A Piece of Cake
by sinverguenza
Summary: Sometimes he swears she smells like almonds. A little angst, mostly fluff. PeterClaire. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Also - don't flame me if you don't like this pairing. Move along. I am not a huge Heroes fan, so if there are canon mistakes, I apologise.

----------------------------------

He can't see her as much as he'd like to. She doesn't live far away, but she's busy with school, and so is he, with work.

She seems to have adjusted pretty well to her new life. It's good that she came to live with Nathan. She speaks to her brother and mom on the phone a couple times a week, her father on the holidays. She still calls Nathan by his first name, but she gave him a Father's Day card this year, which is a good sign, right?

She's not a great cook, but she can bake well. Sometimes she brings him cookies, or almond cake. He likes that the best. He likes to eat a slice of the cake with milk, just before bed.

He's glad that she likes her new school. When she got the uniform, she modeled it for his family at Easter, twirling in the skirt and vest. It's a private, all-girls school, which is a good thing considering what she looks like. He doesn't trust any boy around her.

He likes the way she worries about him. He likes how, every time he bumps into a table or gets a paper cut, she comes running over.

When the family meets for Nathan's photo ops, they love to exchange Looks – the, "Oh my God, this is so cheesy" ones, as they pose with their hot cocoa mugs in front of the fire. Political dynasty photos, she called them once, which made him smirk and ruin one of the shots, getting a dirty look from Nathan.

For Christmas she knitted him a scarf. It is knobby and uneven on the ends. It's bright red, a color that he doesn't like to wear if he can help it. But he loves this scarf. It made her smile when he tossed it around his neck on Christmas morning. He wears it now in the hopes it'll make her smile again the next time she sees it on him.

She's fun. She makes him happy, makes him laugh. She teases him about his hair, and pushes it out of his eyes.

His niece. Sometimes he swears she smells like almonds.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I don't really know where this story is going, but it has decided that I'm going to write it apparantly, so I'm just going to roll with it. Again, I am not a huge Heroes fan, so please bear with me regarding canon compliancy.

---------------------------------

**Three Years Later **

He did the right thing. He wishes that that were enough to comfort him on the nights he lays in bed, miserable enough that he thinks he might throw up.

Three years he watched her. Three years he was her friend, her confidant. For three years he ferried her through prom dates, driving lessons, and yes, their powers too. He was her buddy, her "Uncle Pete" as she used to tease him. He wished that it was a joke.

Ha ha. Peter's lips smiled back, but he really wanted to punch the wall. He had never felt rage before, not really, until a few years ago. He'd always been easy-going, dreamy Peter. But now…he found himself livid. A lot.

That night he took off the scarf she made him for Christmas. It's in the bottom of an old backpack now. He hasn't worn it since.

He took her side against Nathan when she wanted to go to Miami for Spring Break her senior year. What's the worst that could happen? A lot, that's what Nathan had said. And Peter didn't disagree. But when she looked down at the floor, so disappointed, so sad…there wasn't anything he wouldn't have done to fix it. To make her happy. He'd do anything for that.

She applied to a few colleges, mostly local. She decided on Rutgers, even though, with her new last name, she could have gone anywhere.

"Get outta here. Go somewhere fun," he told her roughly.

"Aw, and leave you?" She smiled at him and laughed.

But Peter hadn't said anything at all.

She didn't want a big 18th birthday, she said. "Just family," she said. "I just want you guys." Nathan had smiled, and her stepmother had commented on what a nice, nice girl she was.

Her party was very low-key. The family, a nice catered meal at Nathan's apartment. Claire wore a peach colored sundress, showing off the remnants of her Spring Break tan. Everyone clapped and smiled as the caterer brought out the cake, sparkling with 18 tiny candles.

Peter went onto the balcony before the last one was blown out.

A minute, an hour later, he heard the doors swing open. "It's rude to leave the birthday girl at her own party, you know."

Early summer in New York is lovely. The setting sun burned through the hazy smog, a dazzling riot of gold and amber. He didn't turn from the horizon when he heard her speak.

"Here," she said, and slipped a small plate in his hand. A piece of her birthday cake.

When he didn't reply, she blinked into her own plate. "Are you mad at me, Peter?"

"No."

"Then why are you acting like it?" She looked at the side of his face for an answer.

Peter took a big bite of cake. Anything to avoid it, to prolong it, even just for a couple seconds of chewing. Peter's lips twisted. "Is this almond cake?"

She took a step closer to him. "You know it is."

He set the plate down onto the stone balcony.

"I know you like that cake, Peter. I used to make it for you a lot."

"I told you, I can't eat that rich stuff anymore," he said, rocking from side to side.

"That's a lie." She whispered it tersely.

Finally, he snuck a look at her. She wasn't a luminous young lady on her 18th birthday. She was mad. Hurt. Her mouth had that stubborn set, and her eyes were glazing over with tears…not weak, weepy tears. They were the tears of a very pissed off young woman.

"I have waited for you…for this. Peter. Don't even think about taking this away from me."

He started to walk away, when she pushed him. "I'll throw you off this building if I have to, if that's the only way you'll talk to me."

"About what?!" He got in her face, angrily.

"About us!" She was exasperated, and raised her hands from her sides only to drop them back again.

"There's nothing to say. Happy birthday, love ya, and goodbye" he said brusquely, and headed for the door once again.

His hand was on the doorknob when she spoke, quietly.

"You do love me, you know. Because I know. I'm just not sure you do," she said.

He hand gritted the doorknob until his knuckles were white. "Of course I love you. I'm your uncle."

She walked over to him, softly. She always did have dancer's feet.

"It's more than that. I don't know why you're pretending that it isn't. Today's my birthday and-"

"Jesus Christ, you think that makes any difference?" Peter walked briskly to the other end of the balcony, kicking a deck chair that dared get in his way.

She followed him closely, not touching. "You think I'm not afraid too? You think I'm not confused, because I am! But I know what I want, Peter. And I know," she paused here and swallowed, as if to gather her courage. "I know you want me too," she said, her voice wobbling a bit, but determined as she walked around to face him.

Peter didn't say anything. He watched her eyes lift up to his, slowly, and then settle on his mouth. Peter stopped breathing. He felt her arms balance on his as she rocked onto her toes, stretching, leaning forward, so slowly.

He felt her breath on his bottom lip. She smelled like almond cake, that cake that Peter had craved in increasingly desperate increments since he told her two years ago that he didn't like the taste of it anymore.

He held her hands together, and looked at her for a long moment.

"No."

It was so easy to say it. To leave her on the patio. To take a cab straight home, where he packed up his suitcase and rang Matt for a pick up from the airport. He'd have no trouble getting a job in L.A. The flight was fast. The call to Nathan was justifiably loud, but his brother was used to Peter's whims.

It only got bad when he was finally lying in Matt Parkman's guest bed, and he felt sick to his stomach, enough that he thought he was going to retch.

Four months and he's still nauseated as he falls asleep at night. His new job is fine; helping sick people is universal. Parkman's a good roommate, though he's getting tired of the pitiful glances and hey-buddy-hang-in-there's.

At night, when it's the worst, he lays out the facts like a mantra.

It was the right decision, and he won't regret it. She's a baby. She's his niece. She's Nathan's daughter. She is off limits, not available. Gone.

She will meet a nice boy at Rutgers. She will meet a lot of nice boys. And the nicest one out of all of them will get to take her home to his parents one day. And Peter is sure it'll take every muscle in his body not to find the idiot and bash his face in.

That is the wrong way to think. Peter shakes the thought from his mind.

Just the facts. He left before it got any worse. He'll keep a dozen states between her and him until it goes away. If that's never, then so be it.


	3. Chapter 3

-------------------

August 2

Hi Peter,

How are you? I don't know if you're checking this email still or not, but whatever, here goes. How are you? Nathan says you're living in L.A. and trying to "find yourself", like it's some big joke. He said that you didn't want anyone to have your address. Why not? I found the funniest salt and pepper shakers at the flea market last week. I'd love to send them to you, for your new place.

C.

-------------------

August 14

Hi Peter,

I haven't gotten a reply to my last email. Maybe you aren't checking it, but I think you are. Why won't you write me back? We don't have to talk about anything big. I just want to know that you're okay.

Nathan put the deposit down on a bed for me at Rutgers, but I'm not sure if I still want to go there. Maybe I should go somewhere different. What do you think?

C.

--------------------

August 25

I got a card and package in the mail last night from Hiro, and wishing me a "Best Birthday"! He said it was sorry he was four months late, but he had been "lost in space". He is so cute. He gave me a pencil case with a Japanese frog on it. It has a million compartments and looks like something a fourth grader would have, but I like it and am so taking it to Rutgers when I go.

Nathan said last night that you got rid of your cell phone. I guess that's why you haven't been taking my calls. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bug you.

C.

----------------

Bug him? Peter rubbed his eyes with both fists as he read through her latest email for the twentieth, fiftieth time. He never replied. He was never going to. What could he say?

Peter leaned his head on the desk next to his laptop.

There was a soft knock on his door. Matt stood at the door in his LAPD uniform. He sat on Peter's unmade bed.

Him and Parkman weren't what you'd call close – an occasional beer on the weekends, their interaction consisted mostly in quickly scribbled notes, since Matt worked nights, and Peter days.

But they had one thing in common. And it was enough to forge a powerful bond between them.

"Man, this cant go on," said Matt kindly.

Peter sighed. "The feedback? I barely notice it any more."

Parkman crossed a leg, and unhooked his utility belt. "Nope. Not that. This thing with her."

Peter jumped at the implication. "Who?"

Parkman rolled his eyes. "Come on. I can't hear much. But what I do hear..." Parkman's voice drifted off, and he looked at Peter with a sad smile.

"Great," said Peter miserably.

Parkman raised his hands in front of his chest. "Hey, I'm not judging."

"I'm…trying," said Peter.

"I know. It's fine, none of my business." Parkman stood up. "Hey, Mohinder's in town. Wanted to know if we'd go out with him tonight."

Peter shook his head. "No. No thanks. You guys go."

Parkman clapped a thick arm around Peter's neck. "You're coming."

"I don't think I'll be good company," said Peter.

"When were you ever?"

------------------

August 28

I went to the Dahrendorf Café last night – remember it? I got the same thing as last time. It didn't taste as good as before.

How is L.A.? It's so hot here. I had to take an umbrella to keep the sun off me when I went out today. It's all gross and sticky. Wish I were somewhere cooler right now. Nathan said you got sick a while ago. I hope you're better now.

-------------------

August 29

I helped your mom clean out your apartment last night. She said you asked her to send her some stuff. I hope they don't rent it for a while. I know she says that you don't plan on coming back, but maybe, someday. It'd seem weird for you to be living here and not be in your apartment.

I hope…I hope that you didn't leave because of anything stupid I said to you the night of my birthday. I had a little champagne and I might have said something dumb. I hope that you won't stay away from here because of that.

C.

--------------------

August 31

Tonight's my last night here. Tomorrow I'm moving into the dorm at Rutgers. I wonder if Nathan told you? Nathan paid extra and got me my own room. He thought it would just be easier. I'm just glad I don't have to share a bathroom with anyone.

I wish you could've driven me to college and helped me move in. You said you would, remember? It's okay though. I'm not mad.

-------------------

He knows that she wouldn't send those emails if she knew what they did to him.

Peter Petrelli had lost weight. Parkman tempted him with all sorts of local hot spots. Good food that Peter had no appetite for. Parkman brought home some pastries one night that he'd raved about, trying to tempt him into eating. Peter felt sick when he smelled the marzipan filling, and went into his room for the rest of the night.

Peter switched the laptop off, and pushed away from his desk. His shirt hung a bit looser over his shoulders, his pants sagged just a bit.

The doorbell rang, and Peter stood up slowly. It felt like his bones were creaking.

Peter blinked into the sunlight after he opened the door. "M-Mohinder?"

Mohinder was living in L.A. at the moment, staying with a friend, as he gathered more off of the list. He went out sometimes with Parkman and Peter on the weekends. Peter wasn't too close with him, but they got along okay. Most of them did.

"Peter. May I come in?"

Peter stepped back from the door.

Mohinder shut the door behind him, carrying his leather briefcase in his other hand.

"Sit…please." Peter gestured to the living room, and they both sat.

"Thank you," said Mohinder.

"So, uh…how's it going?"

"Fine. Peter, this is not a social call. I must tell you that I have agonized over this for years… for longer than you think."

Peter was silent.

"I don't know how to say this properly," said Mohinder.

Peter sat forward on the leather chair. "What's going on? Is someone hurt?"

"No, no, nothing of that sort. Peter…when Isaac passed away…well a few days after, a key arrived at my apartment."

Peter winced a little at the memory of that horrible, horrible day. "A key?"

"Yes, it was a key. To a safety deposit box that Isaac had opened."

"And?"

"Inside were a large amount of paintings and sketchbooks. I have tried not to reveal this information unless absolutely necessary, as their known whereabouts would prove…enticing for certain people, " said Mohinder.

"Okay." Peter sat back in his chair.

"This is the difficult part." Mohinder sighed. "Peter, I would not have shown this to you unless I had, myself, experienced such a withholding of information. I know how painful that can be. And Matt, while being entirely discreet regarding the situation, has led me to believe that you are struggling in regards to your…well."

Here Mohinder looked away, a tad embarrassed.

"I think I will simply have to show it to you. Here, Peter," said Mohinder, and handed him a sheet that he had withdrawn from his briefcase.

The glossy print was beautifully done in a comic book panel style. Isaac had gone through the trouble of coloring it. The background was a magnificent New York skyline, the sun setting between the figures in the painting, lighting the background in a triumphant explosion of golden clouds and beams of light.

And the figures…it was a man. Holding a woman. Her blonde curls were whipping around the man's face as they embraced. Her lips were curved into his in a passionate kiss.

It was a drawing. Of Peter, and his niece. Kissing.


	4. Chapter 4

Again, please forgive any canon mistakes - I have only seen a few episodes of Heroes.

----------------------

Peter stared at the piece of paper in his hand.

"Mohinder."

"Yes."

"It's…"

"Yes it is, Peter."

His mind reeled, and he tried to lasso one of the many thought screaming through his head at the moment.

"Is there any more?" Peter's mouth was dry, and he spoke in a whisper.

"No. Not…relative to the situation. You understand, I hope." Mohinder looked at Peter apologetically.

Peter shook his head, trying to clear out the fogginess building inside it. "Yeah. I guess."

His eyes grew wide and he turned very slowly to Mohinder. "What does this mean?"

"I don't know, Peter." Mohinder was packing his briefcase up, and began to stand. "I cannot offer you answers or explanations, only that Isaac painted what you are holding in your hands now. Which we know is significant in some manner, by that very act."

"She's my niece," said Peter.

"I know." Mohinder spoke with pity.

"I moved here to get away from her. From this," he said, as he shook the paper.

"I assumed so," said Mohinder.

Peter's face crumpled, but he did not cry. He put a fist to his forehead. "I don't want this to happen."

Mohinder put a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder. "I know that. I am not here to make any sort of judgment. I am giving you what's already yours."

Peter looked at Mohinder with shock. "Mine?"

"The painting," he replied, and gestured to the picture.

"Right…" Peter looked at the picture in his hand.

"Well, I am sorry to be so abrupt, but I have a pressing appointment, and the freeways in this city are nearly impossible to navigate. Please excuse me."

Mohinder gravely shook his hand as Peter let him out of the door. "Take care of yourself, Peter. You look exhausted."

Peter did not answer, did not hear Mohinder as the door shut behind him. His plans were already forming, and he didn't have much time.

------------------

Peter fidgeted on the cab ride. He fidgeted at the ticket booth. He fidgeted at the gate, all six hours of the plane ride, and so badly that the cabbie thought he was on meth when he dropped him in front of the Petrelli palatial home.

But Peter was running on pure adrenalin. He wasn't going to waste precious time on his mother or Nathan and why wasn't anyone answering his knock?

Finally, Nathan's face appeared through a crack in the door. "Peter?"

"Yeah. Let me in."

"Peter. It's been awhile." His brother clasped him in a hug.

"What're you doing home in the day?" It was late afternoon. Peter paced the floor nervously as Nathan sat on one of the large leather chairs lining the entryway to the Petrelli home.

"Didn't she tell you? Today's move-in day for all freshmen at Rutgers. I took her myself," said Nathan, and took a small sip of what looked like brandy. That's why he was so relaxed. Nathan was far from an alcoholic, but was infinitely more reasonable on the occasions that he had a drink or two.

"Why?" Peter was surprised. Nathan hired people to do that sort of thing.

"Well, she asked me to." When Peter's eyebrow curled at him sardonically, he chuckled. "Alright. And it's a nice photo op."

Peter shook his head roughly and could feel the stress of the day, the week, the last four months lancing itself over his brother. "A photo op…a photo op? Nathan, she's your daughter, not a photo op! Have you ever even hugged her when there wasn't a lens pointed at you?"

Nathan laughed softly. "Ah, come on, Peter. She was 15 when she moved here. I didn't expect any sort of real parental relationship with her. She doesn't need it."

"The hell she doesn't! How do you know that?"

"Because she's an independent girl, because she loves Bennett like a father, for all that she's mad at him. I offer her a place to live, a place to keep her safe, my name. It's enough." Nathan stood and shook back the rest of whatever was in his glass.

Peter was shocked. "Do you realise what you sound like, Nathan?"

"Sure do, Peter. I sound like a man who's taking care of his family. Which is more than I can say for you." Nathan looked angry in that quiet way of his. "You flaked out on us big time. I'm used to that from you, but I don't think she was. Or your mother. They were both very disappointed."

"Oh no, don't you put this on me, change the subject and think I haven't seen you do it a million times! Why can't you love her like she deserves? She's your daughter – why can't you love her like a daughter?" Peter yelled in Nathan's face.

"Because she's not my daughter!" Nathan set his glass down onto the marble end table with a clang. "Satisfied?"

Peter felt his legs trembling, and sat down abruptly onto the leather couch. "What?"

Nathan looked at his brother in the cool way he usually reserved for board meetings. "You heard me."

Peter didn't speak. Couldn't.

"I believed it, at first. I did sleep with that girl, around that time. I thought it all made sense. The money I offered her seemed worth it to shut her up at the time. And before I knew it, Bennett had screwed it all up, and his daughter wanted a new home, a new start. So, she came here to live. With me." Nathan spoke simply.

"Why didn't you tell me," said Peter coldly.

"You didn't need to know. What she needed at the time was clarity – some space to live her life, in a home where she didn't need to hide her abilities, where she was surrounded by people who understood her. I gave that to her, and I don't for a minute regret it."

"Well I don't for a minute believe you'd do that out of charity," said Peter.

"Peter, I'm not the bad guy in this situation. She needed a place to stay. I gave that to her. She needed protection. With all of us here, she was much more so than on her own. As we were. She's loved by Heidi, by you, by the kids, and I'm very fond of her myself."

Nathan paused. "She's one of us. She should be with us," he said significantly.

Peter was quiet for a long moment, and looked at his brother coolly. "How did you find out?"

Nathan chuckled again, back to the buddy politician mode. "Of course I had a DNA test done. I'm not an idiot."

"Does she know?"

"No. Keep it that way," said Nathan, gesturing with his fingers nonchalantly.

Peter stood up from the chair. "No."

Nathan frowned and stood to face his brother. "Peter…"

"Shut up," said Peter. "Just shut up." He backed up to the door.

"Why do you want to ruin this for her, Peter? Are you so…mad at the world that you want to make everyone as pissed off and disappointed as you are?"

Peter didn't hear. He was already through the door, down the hallway, and halfway to Rutgers.

-------------

He stopped at his old apartment, briefly. His key still worked, thank God. They hadn't rented it out yet. He threw the door open and walked in.

Lined up against the wall were cardboard boxes, packed up last month by his mother and her, in the impression that he was never coming back.

He had so much to apologise for to her. He thought the words in his mind over and over, what he would say, how he would say it. I'm an idiot. I was horrible. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn't.

Peter wouldn't let himself go beyond that. He wouldn't ask her for things she wasn't ready to give. He was going to let her set the pace, if any. If she didn't want him, she'd be well within her rights.

He had to root through seven boxes before he finally found it. His backpack, from college. It was a ripped-up piece of dark yellow canvas. A trusty vessel that had seen him through undergraduate and nursing school. He opened the flap carefully, and put his hand inside it. He pulled out of it the scarf that she had made for him all those years ago, the one he swore never to wear again.

Now he twisted it around his neck, the sweltering September heat be damned. He walked over to the small balcony and opened the doors. Should he risk flying to Rutgers? It wasn't (relatively) far away, and he hadn't been away from Nathan too long.

He was going to set his behavior by hers. If she treated him like an uncle, he would be one. If she treated him like more…well, then…

He was about to push off from the wired balcony when he heard footsteps.

The feet of a dancer on wooden floor.

He heard her breath hitch, like she'd been crying. He didn't dare turn around, in case he'd only imagined it.

"Peter?"

He felt her step onto the balcony, and soon arms were wrapped around his middle, tightly, and she was crying into the back of his shirt.

"Hey, hey…it's okay," he said, steering her around to face him. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said brightly, wiping her eyes and sniffing. "I've just missed having my Uncle Pete around."

Something twisted inside him.

She leaned her arms onto the balcony rail. "Don't think I'm not mad at you for not taking me to Rutgers today. Everyone saw Nathan carrying my suitcase. God, what a photo op for him," she said, sniffing again, and wiping any last vestiges of crying off of her face.

"I'd much rather have had my cool uncle take me. But I forgive you, you're only a few hours late," she said teasingly.

Peter smiled though he felt sick inside.

"So, how long are you staying for," she said chattily.

"We need to talk," he blurted out.

She looked at him seriously. "I know. I need to apologize…for being so stupid. At my party."

"No-"

"I didn't know what I was saying…and I was tipsy. If I could take all those words back, I would," she said.

He tried to speak but she rattled on. "I'm just a silly girl, I-I just…I want you to forget I said that stuff…and come back. Here. Come back to live. It's your home. I'm sorry I scared you off-"

"Scared me off?" Peter interrupted. "You didn't scare me off, I left because I had to-"

"To get away from me? Because I said those things? Peter, I'm sorry I was so stupid. I thought I was feeling something, and I know now that I was just being an idiot. But we can go back, can't we? You can forget what I said, right?"

She stepped closer to him, and looked into his eyes. "I'll do whatever you want to do, Peter. I'll be your little niece if you want me to. Just…don't leave me again." Her voice broke on the last word and she lowered her head.

"I don't want you to be my little niece," said Peter, and put his arm around her waist. "I want you to be my Claire."

She raised her eyes to his in confusion, mouth parted. He looked at her face seriously, searching…waiting.

And then she smiled, slowly.

He wanted to kiss her more than anything right then, but before he did he had to tell her. "You're not my niece. Nathan told me today…he had a DNA test done…"

"What?" Her smile disappeared.

"Nathan's not your father. I'm sorry, I don't know anything more than that at the minute, but we'll figure it out, and-"

"You're not my uncle?" Her voice was incredulous.

"No," he said, and knew he was grinning like an idiot.

She turned her head a bit, processing. Peter watched her intensely.

Then, she turned back to face him, and pushed herself further into his arms.

She spoke seriously. "You totally need to kiss me right now, Peter Petrel-"

A slow breeze skirted around the couple on the balcony, softly blowing the girl's long hair around the face of the boy as her mouth curved into his. He wound his arms tightly around her. For the first time in four months he felt well. Whole.

A few moments later, he tucked her head under his chin, and sniffed deeply. "Mm. Almonds."

She looked up and smiled. "Yeah."

"You always smell like almonds."

"I know," she said.

"And you would bring me that almond cake, and then my whole apartment smelled like you. You drove me crazy," he said. "Did you know?"

He felt Claire smile against his chest before she spoke. "No. But I was hoping."

_fin._

A/N - Complete! Hope you guys liked it. Thanks for letting me dabble in your universe, Heroes fans. I'll go back to Harry Potter now :)


End file.
